


Bloodlust

by MsImpala67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Sam, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Vampires, Wincest - Freeform, sam gets bitten, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 22:46:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12567896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsImpala67/pseuds/MsImpala67
Summary: It's Dean's fault that Sam was there that night. That he got bitten. That he's turning into a vampire.And now Dean has to save him. He has to find the vampire and cure Sam.Because that's what they do. They save each other.





	Bloodlust

_ It’s my fault. _

Dean runs down the alley, not even attempting to chase after the woman as she climbs the fence and disappears. The night sucks her up like she was just a figment of Dean’s imagination, but Dean doesn’t notice, and he doesn’t question whether or not she was real. 

What’s  _ real _ is Sam, lying on the ground and clutching at his neck, eyes already a little unfocused. 

“Sammy” The asphalt probably hurts when his knees hit it, but the pain never makes it to his brain for him to feel it. “Sammy, did she?”

“Dean?” Sam reaches out, long fingers frantically clutching into Dean’s jacket and pulling him down. Dean shoves at his hands, trying to look at the bite on Sam’s neck.

“Sam, I’m right here. Did she bleed into this?”

Sam shakes his head yes and Dean’s world stops. Just quits moving right there in a dirty alley behind a dive bar in Mississippi. “You’re sure?” he whispers.

Sam stammers a little, grunts in pain with the effort of speaking through a damaged throat. “Tried to make me drink, but I-I wouldn’t. So sh-she bit her wrist. Rubbed it. Rubbed it in.”

“Oh, God, Sam. It’s okay.” Dean runs his hands through Sam’s hair, smearing blood through the tangles as he tries to soothe him, anything to stop the way Sam’s body is starting to tremble. “It’s okay. It’s. We’ll find her. We’ll get her blood. I’ll fix it.”

He gathers Sam into his arms, still stroking his hair the best he can, pulling Sam to his unsteady feet. His arm slides around Sam’s waist as he pulls one of those long arms over his shoulders. His body is so warm, so alive. He can’t be. This isn’t. 

They make their way down the alley to the street where the Impala is waiting. It takes a while, Sam fighting the pain and the oncoming fever every step, Dean keeping up a constant stream of reassurances that don’t make any sense but that he needs to say. 

Needs to say them because this is his fault. 

_ Sammy’s hurt because of me. I did this. Myfaultmyfaultmyfault. _

His reassurances turn into “I’m sorry” by the time he’s lowering Sam into the passenger seat, buckling his seat belt like Sam’s much more unaware than he is, like he’s unable to move at all. 

“I shoulda been there. I shouldn’t have told you- I’m so sorry.”

In his mind, he replays the fight they had earlier, the horrible things he said that drove Sam to this bar. If not for that fight, if not for his own fucking stupid temper, Sam would be back at the motel right now. If not for his own fucking dumbass mistakes, Sam would be drinking a beer in front of his laptop. Or even sleeping. Dean can’t even remember what the fight was about now.

“Not your fault,” Sam huffs out, leaning his head back and keeping his hand over the bite on his neck. There’s still a little blood seeping through his fingers, and Dean wants to drown in it. 

Of course it’s his fault.

And now he has to fix it. 

Dean speeds back to the motel, and Sam calms down a little on the way, his breathing evening out to much deeper, less worrisome inhales. Dean keeps one hand on him, touching his thigh, his arm, his hair, telling himself he’s comforting Sam, while he’s really comforting himself.

The parking lot is empty and dark, and Sam’s already getting out of the car as Dean rushes around to his side. 

“I can walk, Dean,” he says, half-annoyed, and it almost makes Dean smile for all it’s little brother tone. 

They get into the motel room and Sam collapses into a chair, head in his hands. 

“Get your shirt off,” Dean orders. “I need to clean you up.”

“Dean, we need to talk about this.”

“No, we don’t.” He’s already digging through their first aid kit, pulling out alcohol swabs, bandages, and a needle and thread just in case. 

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Sammy, you’re gonna be fine. I was fine, remember? We just need to track her down and get her blood. It worked for me, remember?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, but if it doesn’t, I need you to promise-“

“No.”

Dean’s so fucking sick of these promises, so sick of being in situations that  _ need _ these promises. He’s not making another one. He doesn’t care what happens or how bad of a decision it is. He’s not fucking doing it.

Maybe it’s because of Dean’s tone, but Sam doesn’t argue. The argument is still there behind his closed lips, stretched in that tight, straight line, but he keeps his thoughts to himself and takes his shirt off like Dean told him to. Dean sinks down to his knees next to the chair and tears open an alcohol swab. 

“This is gonna hurt like a bitch,” he warns, brushing his fingers just below the bite on Sam’s neck, more tender and gentle than he’s ever been cleaning his own wounds. 

Sam nods and his jaw clenches, bracing himself. He hisses at the first touch, but that’s it. He just holds his head to the side and lets Dean work. Dean wishes Sam had never had to learn how to take pain so well. 

The bite doesn’t need stitches, so Dean cleans him up and dresses it with a clean bandage, ignoring Sam’s blood stains on his own blue jeans. The bloody swabs and discarded paper packaging litters the floor around his knees, but he doesn’t clean them up. The second he’s done working on Sam he leans forward, wraps his arms around Sam’s shoulders and pulls him close, their foreheads pressing together. 

“You’re okay, little brother. I got you.”

A small sound like a whimper escapes from Sam’s lips, but he steadies his shaking shoulders. Dean feels him go rigid and strong in his arms, knows exactly the determination he’ll see in the set of Sam’s jaw when he pulls away. That’s good. That’s what they both need to get him through this.

Dean holds on a little longer anyway. 

“Okay,” he nods when he finally manages to let go. “I’m going back to the bar to track her. How you feelin’?”

Sam swallows hard, his throat bobbing with it. “I think I’m okay. A little woozy, but.”

“You’ll be fine. Maybe try to get some sleep?”

“Sure, Dean.” Sam is sincere, but they both know it’ll never happen. 

“Call me if you need to.”

They look at each other, a million words and touches passing between them in their gaze, and then Dean turns to leave. His hand is on the doorknob when Sam speaks, calm and steady words. 

“This isn’t your fault, Dean.” 

Dean doesn’t look back as he leaves. 

 

********

 

He drives like a bat out of hell back to the alley, hops the fence where the vamp disappeared, and goes still. Looking. Listening. Behind the fence is just woods, thick branches and a symphony of insects. Easy to get lost in. 

Not wanting to announce his presence with a flashlight,  Dean squints into what little moonlight there is, finds the path of broken branches she’s arrogantly left behind, thinking she was easily going to best them. He moves into them silently, hoping he’ll stumble upon her nest, knowing that his luck is never that good. 

Eventually he gives in and uses the flashlight, knowing that he’ll lose the trail without it and that no matter how quiet he is, she’ll hear him coming anyway. His blade is heavy and lethal in his other hand, catching the light every now and then and gleaming into the darkness. 

The trail never fades, and with each step, Dean’s stomach starts to sink. Maybe this isn’t arrogance that she could win in a fight. Maybe this is her knowing that he still won’t find her, even if she leaves a path.

He finds the nest easily about a mile into the trees,  and knows before he looks that they’re all gone. There’s no attempt to hide their presence in the abandoned shack, no cleaning up or making it look overgrown again. Which means they’re already an hour or two away. 

With a sinking stomach, Dean searches every inch of the place, scours for any clue, anything that might help. 

His blood feels like ice when he walks back to the Impala with fuck all. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters to himself. “We’ll figure out a way. Come back in the daylight, maybe. Or research another cure.”

He continues talking to himself all the way back to the motel, trying to make his face look convincing, trying not to look like he’s announcing a death sentence. And it doesn’t fool Sam for a second, not that he thought it would. Sam’s face doesn’t have any hope in it to begin with, so it doesn’t fall. He just looks at Dean with certainty. “They’re gone.”

Dean nods and falls to a seat on the edge of one of the beds, rubbing at his hair as his mind races. 

“We’ll ask around first thing in the morning. Find out if they’re local. They could still be close. Maybe there’s more than one place they stay.”

“Yeah. You should get some sleep, Dean.”

“So should you.”

Sam smiles a little, eyes trained on an invisible spot on the floor. The air conditioner kicks on and Dean startles, jolts a little before he lets out the breath he’s been holding all night, most of his hope going with it. 

“Alright. Come here.” 

He scoots back on the bed and stretches out, arms open. Sam looks at him for a few seconds, blinks while Dean waits him out, refusing to take no for an answer. It’s selfish, and he doesn’t deserve it after driving Sam away, but he’s not sleeping without him tonight. When Sam turns off the light and gets in bed, he slides right in like they’re puzzle pieces, his body curving into Dean’s perfectly, his head slotting into Dean’s neck where it always goes. Dean’s hands fit into the curve of Sam’s lower back, locking him in. 

“How are you feeling now?”

“My head hurts. And I feel…I don’t know. Like I’m buzzing. Like everything is a little fuzzy.”

“You think you can sleep?”

Sam snorts. “Will you?”

“Probably not,” Dean says into the darkness. He wishes they had undressed, that he could feel Sam’s skin, but maybe that’s not a good idea right now. 

They lie there for a while, syncing their breaths without realizing that’s what they’re doing, at least at first. When Dean feels Sam’s chest rising and falling at the exact same time as his, when it occurs to him that they always do that, he thinks their hearts are probably beating at the same time, too. 

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he jerks awake sometime just before dawn, when everything is extra still and dark. 

“Sam?” he calls out, before his eyes are even all the way open. His mind isn’t awake yet, but his body knows Sam isn’t there, is missing the weight of him.

“I’m right here.” Sam’s voice comes from the chair, and Dean tries to find him in the blackness of the room. 

“What’re you doing?”

“Uh. Nothing, just. I couldn’t, uh.”

Dean is sitting up now, willing himself to wake up, to get going. Sam needs him. “What is it, Sammy? Tell me.”

“I could smell you. Your blood.” Sam sounds apologetic and disgusted with himself. “I needed to move. Clear my head.”

Fuck. Dean can hear the pain in his voice, the struggle to sound somewhat calm. “Shit. Are you okay?”

Sam turns his head, eyes flashing in the dark as they catch the light from the streetlamp outside the window. “I’m okay. I’m not in pain or anything. I just. I can hear your heart. I can hear everything.”

Dean doesn’t ask what he really wants to know. He doesn’t ask if Sam’s thirsty yet, or if the smell of Dean’s blood is a problem for him. Instead, he slides back into the mode he was in last night. _ Fix this. _ “Tell me what you know.”

There’s the sound of Sam moving around in his chair, and a heavy sigh. “I don’t know much. She was just...a woman. I was pissed at you and four beers deep, and she just came over to me at the bar.”

Dean knows that he didn’t say it that way intentionally, but the knife in his heart twists again when he remembers that this is his fucking fault. Dean was being an asshole and he drove Sam straight into the vampire’s teeth. 

“She was just talking to me. Her name was Sarah. And I bought her a drink, and then she...she invited me back to her place. But she seemed totally normal, Dean.”

Dean swallows hard, shoves down the thought of Sam going home with anyone else. He files that away as something to talk about when this is over. When Sammy is better. 

“So we’ve got nothing.”

“Well,” Sam says, voice desperate like he knows he’s grasping at straws, “she had a tattoo on her forearm. Some symbol. Might mean something.”

“Draw it.”

Dean leans over and switches on the lamp next to the bed, and Sam suddenly moves so quickly Dean doesn’t even see the motion. In the time it takes the light to fill the room, Sam’s on his feet, hissing as he covers his eyes with his arm. 

“Too bright,” he growls, and Dean immediately shuts the light off. 

“I’m sorry,” he says to the darkness, eyes trying to adjust to all the changes. “I didn’t think-”

“It’s just. Too much. All my senses feel so... _ sensitive  _ right now.”

Dean stumbles to the bathroom and turns that light on, pulling the door almost shut, leaving just enough light to not stumble on his way back. “What about that?”

Sam nods, already grabbing a pen and the motel notepad to start sketching. 

“I’m gonna take a shower while you do that. Soon as the sun comes up, I’m going back out.”

Sam works on the sketch the entire time Dean’s showering and dressing, only handing it over when he’s lacing his boots up. It’s intricate, one of those designs that could be ancient and meaningful or could be the tattoo on some frat guy’s arm. Dean shrugs.

“Look it up while I’m gone?”

Sam nods. 

Dean wants to kiss him goodbye. He stands up, grabs his keys, and stares at his Sammy, forehead all frowned up and body hunched in on itself the way it is when he’s scared, and Dean needs to kiss him, to hold him and tell him it’s alright. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed. 

“Sam, I-”

“It’s okay, Dean. I’m okay.” Sam sounds less convincing than he did last night. 

Dean bobs his head once and grunts his reply, then hurries out the door. The sooner he gets going, the sooner he can save him. 

 

********

 

He drives to the bar through the sunrise, gentle pinks and oranges like the world is still turning, like there are still things that are soft and good even when Sam is hurting. Dean hates it, finds himself sneering at it as he pushes his foot down. 

There’s only one person at the bar, an overworked employee locking the doors as the Impala roars into the parking lot. 

“We’re closed, man,” the guy calls before Dean gets a foot on the ground.

“Not here for a drink. Just wanna ask you about a woman who was here last night. Sarah something?”

The stiffening in the man’s shoulders is so subtle Dean almost misses it, but he’s looking, looking for any sign of recognition, and it’s there. The man narrows his eyes at Dean, weighing whether or not he wants to get involved. Dean’s seen that look on lots of people’s faces, but this one isn’t getting away. 

“You know her.”

“Sarah. Yeah,” the man sighs. “What about her?”

“She, uh. My brother was here last night, and.” Why didn’t Dean think of a story on the way over here? “And I need to find her. You know where she is?” Vague honesty it is.

“Your brother would do well to just stay away from her. She and her brothers come ‘round here sometimes. Always causing trouble.”

“Her brothers?” Good. They have been here a while, made a home of this place. Maybe they didn’t go far.

The man squints into the sky at the sun, officially risen now and making everything look garishly cheerful to Dean. “Yeah. Two of ‘em. Big guys. Like to fight.”

“You know where I can find them?”

“I don’t know where they live. Rumor has it they stay at a cabin out on Harper’s Lake, but that place don’t seem like much to me.”

Dean’s already thinking, already planning. Harper’s Lake. The nest last night was a decoy, or maybe just somewhere they hang out sometimes. The real nest is still here. “Thanks,” he tells the man, and sits back down in his car, something very much like hope starting to bloom in his chest. He lets it propel him forward. 

To the lake.

The miles drag on too slowly, despite the fact that Dean’s got his foot to the floor of the car, that his hands are gripped tightly around the steering wheel as he flies around the curves. 

Vampires that make their presence known? Not just a family that quietly takes what they need so they don’t have to move around all the time? It’s not normal. This family might be more than they’re used to. 

Dean pulls up to the woods surrounding the lake and turns off the GPS. There seems to be only one road in, and the man from the bar was right. It doesn’t look like much. He pulls the Impala into the lane anyway, follows it through the trees until it ends at the water, one lone cabin standing in the shadows to his right. 

Just like the night before, Dean knows this is a dead end before he even gets out of the car. He gets out with a heavy heart, searches carefully, but there’s not anything here. This place is cleaned out, no sign that anyone, even a vampire family, has been here in months. 

_ Sam’s running out of time. _

“Damn it!” he shouts, slamming his boot into a rickety wooden chair that immediately gives and falls in pieces on the dirty floor.

There’s not anything to do except go back to the motel and see if Sam figured anything out about the tattoo. Dean needs to check on him anyway. He’s been gone a few hours now, and Sam hasn’t answered the text he sent. 

Once again, Dean finds himself in his car, racing against time. It’s familiar. He shouldn’t feel so out of breath, shouldn’t feel that prickling of sweat at the back of his neck. He should be used to this, should know exactly what to do. 

But he’ll never get used to it when it’s Sam. 

********

 

The curtains are drawn, and Dean opens the door as little as possible when he slips inside the dark motel room. His heart doesn’t beat until he finds Sam, hunched over on one of the beds, head in his hands. 

“Sammy?” he whispers. 

“Don’t get close to me,” he growls. His voice is so different, not Dean’s Sammy at all. It’s feral and painful, scraping over Sam’s tongue with a venom Dean’s never heard from him before. 

Dean freezes in the middle of the room, halfway to his brother, torn between doing what he wants and what Sam needs. “How bad is it?”

“I’m okay,” Sam manages, but it’s through gritted teeth and it still isn’t Sam’s voice coming out of his lips. “Just. I can smell you. I can’t...you shouldn’t come any closer.”

“Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

That isn’t a no, and Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “I found two nests, both cleared out. I got nothin’ else. You find anything about that tattoo?”

“I looked a little, but the laptop screen...it was too bright. I thought all that shit about light was just a myth.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s just the transition.” The words almost stick in his throat. Sam isn’t going to end up a vampire. He isn’t. “It makes your senses go batshit for a while.”

“I saved a couple of sites that looked promising. Can you?”

“Yeah, Sammy. Of course. You need anything?”

The whimper is so soft Dean barely hears it, but he doesn’t need to. Every cell in his body jumps toward it, is built to react to exactly that noise, exactly the way Sam’s looking up at him now. Dean can barely see him in the darkness, but he can see enough. Sam _ needs _ him. 

He bounds across the room and yanks his little brother into his arms, gripping tight enough to bruise, his hands sliding in Sam’s dirty hair and tangling there. “God, you’re burning up,” he says, lips on Sam’s forehead as Sam slumps against his chest. 

“Dean, I can’t. It hurts.”

Dean doesn’t let go. He needs to feel Sam breathing, needs the shuddering body underneath his hands while he still has it in front of him. While Sam is still mostly Sam. “Shhh.”

Sam drops down on the bed and Dean goes with him, landing on top of him with a thud, their lips bumping together in an awkward kiss. Dean licks at Sam’s lips, but Sam just leans away. 

“I can’t.”

But his hands are on Dean’s back, digging into the muscle there, holding him right where he is and not letting him go. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean says again. “I’m gonna fix this, Sammy.” He kisses wherever Sam will let him, his forehead, his nose, his eyes, his chin, his ear. “I promise I’m gonna fix this.”

Sam nods, ever the little brother taking Dean at his word. He’s always taken care of him before. He’ll take care of him now. 

“You think you could sleep? Or at least lie here and rest? I’ll look at those sites and see what I can find.”

Sam takes a minute to move, to let go of Dean, and then nods. Dean stands up, watches as Sam’s body curls in on itself when he turns to face the wall. Dean forces himself to walk to the table, to leave Sam there while he figures this out. 

 

********

 

“Dean?”

The voice is right at the back of Dean’s neck, hot and dangerous, and it startles him out of the nap he didn’t mean to take. 

Something’s different. 

“Wake up, Dean.” That voice. It’s not the desperate, scared  _ Not Sam _ voice from earlier. But it’s still not Sam. It’s teasing, dark, something metallic in it that makes Dean’s spine tingle. 

“Sam? You okay?”

He tries to turn around, but strong hands, too strong, clamp down on his shoulders. “I’m great, Dean.”

“Sam, what the hell are you-”

“I slept. Like big brother told me to. And when I woke up, you know what I realized?”

Sam saunters around to stand in front of him now, tall and broad and fucking terrifying.

“What?” Dean whispers.

“This isn’t a bad thing. You don’t have to fix this.”

“Sam, that’s the fever. You’re just. You didn’t go out while I was asleep, did you?” Dean’s blood runs cold. “You didn’t feed on anyone, did you?”

Sam smirks. “No. But let me show you something, Dean.”

Sam reaches out to the empty chair and flicks his wrist, and Dean watches as the arm of the chair shatters beneath his fingers. It’s all wrong, so wrong. Dean’s muscles are so rigid it hurts, but he can’t move. Sam’s eyes have him glued to his spot. 

“Think about it. Immortal. Strong. Perfect.”

“That’s the blood talking, Sam. You’d be a monster.”

Sam leans down, runs his hands up Dean’s thighs slowly, careful to keep his touch light. “I’m so thirsty, Dean. So thirsty. It fuckin’  _ hurts _ . But I didn’t go out. Wanna know why?”

_ Get out. Call other hunters. Lock Sam up somewhere until you can figure this out.  _

Dean’s brain is screaming at him, but his body doesn’t listen. His head nods yes. He wants to know. Wants to hear whatever is going on inside of Sammy right now. 

Sam slithers into Dean’s lap like he still fits there, straddles Dean’s thighs and dips his head down to press his lips to Dean’s ear. “Because I wanted it to be you, big brother. I want it to be  _ your  _ blood.”

Dean’s cock jerks. It shouldn’t. This is beyond wrong. But it’s Sammy.

“Think about it.” Sam’s hands run over Dean’s chest, cradle his jaw, slide back down his arms. “Think about us. Together literally  _ forever. _ Think about how strong we’d be. We wouldn’t have to kill people. We’d find some other way to get blood, and we could keep hunting.”

Dean’s eyes close and he shakes his head, trying to clear it and failing miserably when Sam starts to roll his hips closer. Dean can feel that he’s hard, and fuck if that doesn’t do things to him. 

“Let me, big brother.” He leans down and licks at Dean’s pulse. “God, I can smell the blood pumping. I need it.  _ Let me, Dean _ .”

Dean’s shaking, dizzy and confused like Sam has him under some kind of spell. It’s nothing new, it’s just Sam, and Dean’s been under his spell his whole life. 

“N-no,” he whispers. “We can’t. Let’s just-” His hands push at Sam’s thighs, but Sam doesn’t move. 

Sam kisses over Dean’s jaw, letting his teeth scrape. Dean can feel the restraint, the tension in Sam’s muscles, how Sam is a real predator now, ready to strike. He holds still and tries to find the strength to stop this. 

He doesn’t have it. Never did. The nests are gone and he’s got no real leads on the tattoo and this is what Sam is now. And if this is what Sam is, it’s what Dean will be. 

That’s the deal they’ve always made with each other. It’s the thing that’s kept them alive. They simply can’t be without each other. 

“Sam…” His voice is still a little unsure, the survival instinct in him saying no, there’s still something to be done, Sam can’t bite him. 

If he does, there’s no going back. 

It’s too much, too much disorienting confusion, and before Dean realizes it, Sam’s got his hands working Dean’s jeans open. 

“Let me show you,” Sam says, so confident, sliding down to his knees between Dean’s legs. “Let me show you how good this could be.”

Sam’s radiating fever-heat, his lips pulling back into an almost-snarl as he pulls Dean’s cock free. He’s wild, eyes burning and out of control in a way Sam never is, the simmering beneath his skin barely contained. Dean watches, mesmerized, as Sam leans in, rubs his face in Dean’s lap. The stubble on his face scratches against Dean’s dick, against his balls, and he feels himself blurt precome when Sam inhales deeply, reveling in Dean’s scent. 

“Fuck, Sammy, this is-”

Sam swallows him, burrows down in one swift motion and takes Dean completely down his throat, all the way to the root. Dean shouts and his hands fly to Sam’s hair in a reflex, holding on for dear life as Sam deepthroats him, wet and messy, gags around his cock in a way he’s never done before. 

Dean lets Sam take him apart, lets him drink everything Dean has to offer. He uses his teeth at one point, drives everything to the brink of pain, to the brink of  _ badwrongdirty _ , to the brink of the darkness thrumming through his veins. Dean goes with him, doesn’t put up a fight. 

He comes down Sam’s throat, silent except for the sound of his nails scraping the arm of the chair. It takes the breath right out of him, like a punch to the gut, like being slammed down on the ground in a fight. Only the pain never comes. Instead, every nerve of his body burns like it’s the first time they’ve ever touched. When his lungs can work again, he lets out what can only be called a howl as Sam still hangs off his cock, nursing the tip until Dean pushes him away, too sensitive to let him keep going. 

“See?” Sam says, not bothering to wipe the spit and come off his chin. His hair is in his eyes, cheeks flushed, eyes practically glowing. 

And Dean remembers. All the reasons why they shouldn’t have done this come flooding back and his stomach turns, a wave of terror sweeping through him. 

“No,” he says loudly, standing up. “I need. I need some air.”

Sam takes a step back, looking mildly annoyed now, but doesn’t follow Dean as he rushes out of the room, pulling his jeans back up on the way.

It’s late afternoon now, and the sun takes him by surprise, far too cheerful for what’s happening in the dark motel room. Dean runs his hands through his hair and closes his eyes, forces the tears threatening to fall to stay right where they are. He doesn’t have time for that. 

He finds the chains and the dead man’s blood in the trunk, fills the syringe and hopes against hope that Sam’s not watching through the window. The angle wouldn’t allow him to see exactly what Dean’s doing, but he could probably guess. He stuffs the chain in his jacket and zips it up, slides the syringe up his sleeve, and heads back in. 

“And what have you decided?” Sam asks, still standing in the same spot, like he hasn’t moved a muscle.

“You know we can’t do this. Please tell me that there’s still some part of you in there that knows that.”

Sam snorts a laugh that makes Dean’s skin crawl. “We could. We _ should _ .”

Dean lets Sam stalk toward him, slow and graceful like he doesn’t want to scare Dean off. But he doesn’t let him say anything. As soon as Sam is within striking distance, Dean doesn’t hesitate. The syringe sinks into Sam’s neck easily, and he practically roars, an almost inhuman sound, then slumps to the floor, clutching his neck. 

“Dead man’s blood?” He’s already struggling, fumbling around, unable to stand up. 

Dean talks around the bile rising in his throat at what he just did.“I’m sorry, Sammy. Had to make sure you were safe. You’ll be safe here.” He pulls out the chains, drags Sam over to the vanity area, and secures him to the sink, hoping that the pipes will hold if it takes him longer to get back here than he’s planned. 

“What are you doing?” Sam murmurs, eyes struggling to focus in his weakened state. 

“I told you. I’m going to fix you. I’m not coming back without that vamp, Sam. And we’ll fix you, okay?”

Sam doesn’t answer. He just lets his head fall to the side and goes limp.

 

********

 

Dean already knows there isn’t much in the sites Sam saved. So he takes the sketch and heads to the main street in the town. It’s starting to bustle with the evening crowd, music drifting out of restaurants and people laughing as they window shop. 

Dean’s already left messages with every hunter he can think of who might be able to help, who might be able to find a cure without needing the vampire, but he’s not overly hopeful. Instead, he shows the picture of the tattoo and describes Sarah to everyone he can get to listen, hoping that someone will be able to tell him something new, any little piece of information that could give him a new lead. 

“They live around here. One of them has this tattoo, might be a family crest or something?”

No one knows a fucking thing. 

Dean forces himself to keep moving, to keep asking. He bothers some teenagers, accidentally scares a young woman who’s walking alone, has to repeat himself three times until he’s loud enough for an old couple to hear him. No one knows anything. 

Eventually, he ducks into an alley by himself and punches the brick wall, probably breaking a finger and not giving a shit.“Someone has to know something!” 

“Oh,” a voice behind him says. “Someone does.”

Dean whips around just in time for Sarah’s punch to land right on his jaw, knocking him out.

  
  


“Wake up, sleepyhead.” The sing-song voice echoes in Dean’s ear, but he can’t make sense of it. It’s unfamiliar and a little eery. “Come on, open those pretty green eyes.”

Something touches his neck, lightly drags across his skin. A finger. Dean’s brain starts to catch up and he blinks his eyes open, squints up at the vampire looming over him. 

“There you are,” Sarah smiles, too many teeth glittering in the fluorescent light. Dean moves to stand up, but his muscles strain against ropes holding him down, forcing him to stay in the chair, unable to move. 

_ Fuck. _

“Where am I?” He doesn’t expect her to answer the question, but it buys him some time to look around. He’s in some sort of abandoned building, naturally. Nothing special or descriptive about it. Maybe some old factory that’s been shut down. 

And then he sees it, carved on the wall over the one door he can see. The tattoo. 

“Doesn’t matter.”

“That your business logo or something?” Dean nods toward the design.

“Again, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Sam will be here soon.”

“Sam?” Dean’s whole body tenses again as he growls, hands twisting to figure out the knot holding them together and try to work it open. “What about Sam?”

“Well, before I was so rudely interrupted by _ you  _ the other night, I was in the process of turning him. Has he fed yet?”

Dean stares at her, trying to keep his face blank as the rage wells inside of him. 

She keeps talking when it becomes obvious Dean isn’t going to. “He’ll be the perfect addition to our family. Huge, strong, smart. I wanted him the second I saw him.” She circles around the chair, letting a fingernail scrape across the back of Dean’s shoulders, sharp even through the layers of his shirt. “You know, now that you’re here, maybe I want you, too. What are you? His brother? His boyfriend?”

Dean doesn’t react to her words. “Speaking of, where is the rest of your family?”

Sarah snorted. “Who knows. Out. Fucking someone or drinking someone. Maybe both.”

“They left you alone to deal with Sam?”

“I can handle him”

Dean fakes a snort. “Then you clearly don’t know Sam. But, I gotta ask.” Dean keeps his voice as steady as he can. “If he’s the one you’re after, why did you capture me?”

“Because I couldn’t find him!” she snaps. “The two of you disappeared in that damn car and I couldn’t track you.”

Dean manages a condescending smirk. “A vampire who can’t track people? How have you not starved to death?”

She leans forward and grabs his jaw, squeezing hard enough for him to grunt with it. “Don’t worry. I’ll have Sam soon enough. I made sure to leave a trail of your blood from that injured hand of yours. I got the feeling that the two of you don’t get separated very much. He’ll come looking for you in town, find the trail, and then I’ll have him.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. The dead man’s blood will wear off soon if it hasn’t already. Sam will have no problem getting out of the chains, and Sarah’s right. He’ll come looking for Dean.

But what are the odds that he’ll be able to get to Dean without feeding? And then he’ll be...no. No, Dean can’t think about that. 

The vampire lets go of Dean’s face, and he watches as she begins to pace, seemingly out of things to say. He keeps working at the ropes, but the angle is wrong and the knots are secure. He doesn’t make much progress.

Barely an hour passes before Sarah’s head snaps up. Her eyes focus and she tilts her head, listening to something Dean can’t hear. 

“Come on out, Sam,” she says, voice dripping with sweetness that makes Dean want to throw up. “Come on out here and meet your new family.”

Out of the shadows where it looks like there’s some sort of passage or hallway, Sam comes slinking out, eyes burning, chest heaving with harsh breaths. 

“Sammy!” Dean can’t help it, he has to call out to him, has to see that he’s okay. 

Sam doesn’t look at him. He’s focused on Sarah, walking slowly toward her open arms, like she’s welcoming him home. 

“Sam? Sam!”

Nothing. Sam can’t seem to hear him. 

“You haven’t fed yet,” Sarah comments, reaching out to run a hand over his chest. Dean pulls hard enough against the ropes to feel a trickle of sticky blood run down his hand. 

She touched Sam. He’ll fucking kill her.

Sam doesn’t hug her like she seems to want. “No. I didn’t feed.” His voice is flat, guarded, and Dean has never felt so helpless. 

“That’s okay,” she soothes. “There’s someone here who can help with that.” 

Sam turns his head and looks at Dean like he just realized he was here, like it wasn’t Dean’s blood that brought him here in the first place. “Dean.”

“Sam, you don’t-”

“Shut up.” Sarah lunges across the room in three long steps and slides behind Dean, hands on his shoulders so he can’t move at all. “No one asked your opinion about this. Now be a good boy, and let Sam here have a taste.”

Sam narrows his eyes to Dean, focusing in hungrily, licking his lips as he makes his way forward. His nostrils flare when he gets close, breathing in Dean’s scent.

“Smells good, doesn’t he?” Sarah says. “I almost drank him myself getting him back here. But  _ you _ , Sam, getting you here was too important to me.” 

There’s an urgency in her voice, something a little deranged. Sam looks back and forth between them while Dean just sits there, heart slamming in his chest.

“Drink, Sam. Drink him, and he can be one of us, too. I know you feel it. The strength. The  _ power _ . Don’t you want it?”

Sam leans down toward Dean. 

“No,” Dean pleads. “Don’t do this. This isn’t you. It’s not what-it’s not right. Please, Sam. Please don’t do this.” 

It’s begging. And it’s never going to work. But Dean’s out of options. 

He goes silent when Sam grabs his hair and pulls his head to the side, exposing his neck. 

“I need it, Dean. Need you. To _ taste _ you.”

Sarah steps back out of the way, leaving Dean’s back free, but there’s no escaping now. Sam bares his teeth, leans down and rubs his nose against Dean’s pulse.

“Sammy,” Dean whispers. It’s not a plea this time. It’s just the thought Dean always has in moments like these. When his entire life should flash before his eyes, he’s always seen Sam. Only Sam.

Maybe it’s the tone of voice. Or maybe Sam can still feel what he’s feeling, the way he’s always been able to. But something changes. Sam’s grip in Dean’s hair loosens a little. His head stops moving and his shoulders stiffen. 

“Sammy? You in there? Can you hear me?” Dean jumps at the small bit of the real Sam peeking through the cracks of whoever this is in front of him. “Stay with me. Please. Don’t do this. Just stay with me, okay?”

“ _ Do it _ !” Sarah hisses, jumping forward again, pissed off now. “Drink, Sam. Give in to it.”

Dean feels the sharp edges of Sam’s teeth on his skin, warm with Sam’s breath, ready to pierce. 

“Yes,” Sarah encourages. “Do it.”

Dean feels Sam move before he does it, can sense the change in his muscles. Sarah never sees Sam coming. In the blink of an eye, Sam pounces, hands at her throat and his full weight slamming her down to the ground. She doesn’t scream or cry out in pain, even when Dean hears the crack of her skull on the concrete floor. It all happens too fast. 

Sam looks up at Dean from where he’s crouched over her. “Dean…?” He’s desperate now, scared and small and hurting as he calls out for his brother. 

“In my boot, Sam. There’s a leather pouch with a syringe.”

Sam wastes no time digging the dead man’s blood out and injecting Sarah, who just moans quietly and stays limp on the floor, only making a half-hearted attempt to fight Sam off. 

“It  _ hurts _ , Dean,” Sam whines, hands dropping the syringe and pulling at his hair. “I can’t-we need to hurry.”

“Get me out of these ropes.” Dean wants to hold him, wants to kiss him and tell him everything will be fine, but he can’t. Not yet. He keeps his shit together as Sam cuts through the ropes with his knife in one long sweep, whining again at the smell of blood on Dean’s hands. 

“Okay. We need to get to the Impala. The stuff we need is in the trunk. We’ll get her back to the motel and we’ll cure you, okay? Can you hang on a few more minutes?”

“I don’t...it hurts, Dean...I can’t-”

“Sam. Look at me.”

Sam looks up and meets Dean’s eyes. It’s not a physical touch, which Dean can’t give him right now, but it’s almost as good. Dean holds Sam’s gaze, lifts his chin and nods once, calm and sure. “You can do this. Right?”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shuddering, shallow breath. “Okay. I can do this.”

Dean wants to tell him how proud he is, that only Sam Fucking Winchester could do what he’s doing, could resist the evil inside of him. 

He’ll tell him later.

When this is all over.

“Okay. Where are we?”

“Outside of town. I, uh. I found the Impala in town and drove it here. It’s parked a mile or so up the lane.”

“Let’s go, then.”

 

********

 

Dean’s right next to Sam’s bed when he wakes up two days later. 

“How you feelin’, Sammy?”

Sam stares up at the ceiling for a moment, mouth turned down like he’s really thinking about the answer to that question. “I’m okay,” he finally says. “Better.”

“Good. You hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Well, you should eat something. It’s been a couple of days.”

“Just. Let me wake up a little, okay?”

Dean nods and sits back in his chair, the chair that has been parked by Sam’s bed for forty-eight hours. Dean is tired and dirty and hungry himself, but he doesn’t notice. Sam’s here and alive and safe. After they used what they needed of Sarah’s blood to cure Sam, he decapitated the vampire himself. They both watched the pieces of her burn.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy.”

“What about the rest of them? Her brothers?”

Dean runs a hand through his hair and shifts in the chair, sore muscles screaming at him for being in one cramped position for far too long. “We’ll wait until you get your strength back. Give them a couple days to think we’re gone. And then we’ll take care of them.”

Sam nods. “Okay. The tattoo?”

“Just some symbol, as far as I know. Maybe passed down through the family. Or maybe they just made it up. But I found out they used to own that factory. Probably made a pretty good cover story while it was still up and running.”

Sam nods and breathes out heavily.

“You sure you don’t need anything?”

Sam turns his head and locks his eyes onto Dean’s face. “Would you, uh. Would you lie with me for a while?”

Dean’s halfway in the bed before Sam finished the question. He’s been giving Sam his space while he sleeps, knowing that Sam needs to be the one to ask, needs to feel like he’s in control of his body again before Dean asks to touch and share it. But God, he needs to touch Sam, needs to feel his skin a normal temperature under his hands, needs to hear a normal heartbeat in Sam’s chest. 

He slides under the covers in his jeans, t-shirt, and bare feet, and presses against Sam’s side. Sam’s only wearing his underwear, and Dean strokes his chest and stomach, feeling it twitch like it always does when he touches a sensitive spot, feels the skin dry of sweat, and warm like it’s supposed to be. Sam turns and wraps his arm around Dean, burying his face in Dean’s neck and holding on tight. 

“I’m so sorry, Dean.”

Dean pushes him back to look him in the eyes. “What? What are you sorry for? None of this- and I mean none of it- was your fault.”

Sam lowers his eyes. “I made you. I mean, we…” He glances over to the chair by the table, remembering. 

Dean cups Sam’s face in his hands and holds him tight, makes him make eye contact. “I didn’t ask you to stop, Sam. That was my fault for letting you. This whole thing was my fault. That stupid fight. And then you...you’re the one who saved  _ me _ . I can’t even-”

Sam surprises Dean by laughing, a soft and almost sad chuckle, but one that comes with a real smile. “How about we make a deal? How about we just let each other off the hook this time?”

Dean smiles. He’ll never let himself off the hook. This is one more mark on his list of fuck-ups, one more way that he let Sam down. One more thing he’ll answer for someday. But that burden shouldn’t be on Sam. “Okay, Sammy,” he says. 

Sam leans forward and kisses him, slow and soft. Dean doesn’t deserve it, but like the selfish asshole he is, he takes it, drinks it in and tries to drown in it. 

“Dean?” Sam says against his lips. “I need you. Please.”

Dean can feel it thrumming in Sam’s clinging fingers, can hear it in his voice, so he nods and rolls to the side. “On your back.”

Sam breathes out a sigh of relief as Dean rolls to hover over him, blocking out the rest of the world with his arms as he cages Sam in, leans down to kiss him until neither of them can breathe. Sam. Sam’s okay. Sam is still Sam. 

Sam whimpers a little into the kiss and breaks the skin on Dean’s shoulder with his nails as he claws at him, desperate to get closer. “Need it, Dean. Need to feel you.  _ Please. _ ”

Dean kisses his way down Sam’s chest, refusing to be as rough as he feels inside, even if Sam begs. Sam needs him calm, needs him solid and certain and steady, needs to feel something gentle and safe. And Dean needs to treat him that way for himself too, needs to worship his body until Sam can feel his apology in his bones. 

He hooks his fingers in Sam’s underwear and pulls it off, yanks his own t-shirt over his head and discards them both on the floor in a rumpled heap. Sam’s hard, long and thick and exposed to Dean. Begging. 

Dean holds onto his calm control. It’s surprisingly easy, now that he can feel Sam’s familiar body beneath his, exactly how it’s supposed to be. He takes his time sucking at Sam’s hipbones, holds him down so he can nip at his inner thighs. Sam eventually settles down and just lets him, the desperation seeping out of him and turning to relief instead, small shivers of pleasure making him tremble every now and then as he sighs. 

It’s only been a few days, but Dean has missed this. He spreads Sam’s legs and lets his tongue explore like it’s been years, sucking at his cock, licking at his hole, opening him up soft and warm and wet, just like he deserves. He touches every curve, tastes every part, selfishly savors it even as he tries his best to make it good for Sam, to show him how sorry he is that this happened.

Sam reaches down and strokes his long fingers through Dean’s hair. He understands. He accepts Dean’s apology. Dean knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he moans anyway, lets himself off the hook so he can focus on thrusting his tongue into Sam’s ass. 

Sam quietly falls apart against Dean’s lips, until he’s nothing but sweat and twitching muscle, broken off noises punching out of him every now and then. 

“Dean,” he finally moans. “Come on.”

Dean smiles, runs his hands up and down Sam’s sides before he stands up and takes off his pants, taking a minute to dig the lube out of his bag. 

He works Sam over with his fingers just like he did his tongue, lube-slick and hot as he squeezes his cock, his balls, slides two fingers into his hole. Fuck, Sam is so soft, opens so easily for Dean. Like their bodies belong connected together always. 

He can’t hold out very long, can’t tease Sam the way he wants to, but he does manage to slick up his cock with a steady hand. He slowly pushes in with gentle hips, watching Sam’s face, making sure Sam can see his eyes. Without words, he tells Sam he loves him, that he’ll always save him, always bring him back. Somewhere in their hearts, they know that if he couldn’t save him, he’d have let Sam bite him. He would never have killed him when he could just become the same kind of monster. It’s scary and wrong, but the thought comforts him, knowing that they’ll always have each other. Even when they aren’t themselves. 

Sam leans up and kisses him like he knows everything Dean’s thinking. Of course he does. Dean kisses back as he starts to thrust, a steady rhythm building in his bones that he works to control. Sam runs his hands down Dean’s back to his ass and squeezes, driving him deeper until they can hear their hips smacking with each movement. 

Dean shifts his weight to one arm so he can stroke Sam’s cock with the other, rubbing his thumb over the head just the way Sam likes. 

“Dean…” Sam gasps. “I’m gonna. You’re gonna make me come.”

Dean groans for those words, for the fact that he’s allowed to do this. “Please,” he groans. “Do it. Let me feel it.”

Sam’s orgasm hits him the same way they’re fucking, slow and intense like a cresting wave that finally breaks. Sam arches up, jaw clenching, fingers grabbing, mouth open as he lets out a low, animal sound. Dean watches in awe, lets the clenching of Sam’s ass around his cock drag him to his own orgasm. But even as he comes, even as the shockwaves make his body jerk and convulse, he doesn’t stop watching Sam. He can’t take his eyes off him, because watching the thick pulses of Sam’s come, watching the way he squeezes his eyes shut, is almost better than Dean’s own orgasm.

Afterward, Dean lets himself collapse on Sam, their foreheads together, breathing in unison to try and calm their racing hearts. Dean doesn’t bother to pull out of Sam, won’t do it until he softens and slips out on his own, just so he can feel Sam as long as possible. 

“Sam,” he murmurs, and it’s as good as  _ I love you _ .

“Dean,” Sam answers, and it’s as good as  _ I love you, too. _

“Next time we fight, can you just stay in the room anyway? Ignore me and go to bed or something? I’ll apologize in the morning, I promise. Just. No more running away.”

Sam chuckles a little under his breath and wraps his arms around Dean in a tight hug. “I promise.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! XOXO


End file.
